


The Locky Horror Picture Show

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Rocky Horror Picture Show, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Crossover, Frankenstein - Freeform, Halloween, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, Slut Fest, Some pairings are not described, Weeeeee!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Be warned - this starts out playful and silly and gets a bit dark and very sexy- just like most of my fics. This is my Halloween 2013 Story! This is a Rocky Horror Picture Show Parody... but it isn't like the ones you've read before and it is NOT A SONGFIC. Moriarty is the Sweet Transvestite, John is Janet Weiss, Sally is Brad Majors, Sherlock is the Creature, and it is NOT all fun and games. There's some blood and gore and some dubious consent. Oh, and you'll probably have to have seen the movie to get 50% of the jokes... seriously, go watch it. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

John sat at the wedding, smiling softly at the sight of two of his best friends marrying. It was heartwarming and he strongly looked forward to doing the same someday… if his best mate and steady girlfriend Sally Donovan would ever agree to settle down with him. Sally and John were from conservative families and were waiting until marriage before sharing a bed together; it was a wait that had gone on long enough for John who had been dating her six years now. Sally sat by his side- her thigh a full two inches away from his- with her hand clasped daintily with his own and bearing his promise ring. She had refused his engagement ring twice, but kept it the second time. Her mother had told him not to lose hope, that she had seen Sally taking it out and staring at it happily sometimes.

Just then the bride announced the tossing of the bouquet and Sally dutifully stood up, giving him an annoyed eye-roll at the proceedings, and headed to the crowd gathered behind the bride. Susan tossed the flowers high and they landed in John’s lap. His friends laughed and he got a rough punch in the arm as they all teased him and asked if he’d wear a white wedding gown. John flushed but when he tried to hand the flowers to Sally she refused them with an odd look on her face so he ended up slipping them under his chair.

After the myriad of photos everyone piled into their cars and headed for the reception, but as John was opening Sally’s door for her she suddenly gripped his arm and turned to him with wide eyes.

“Let’s skip the reception, yeah?”

“Sorry?” John asked, thinking of how much Susan and Alex had put out for the food.

“Let’s skip the reception and go see Dr. Holmes.”

“Our science teacher from Uni? Why?”

“Because he introduced us.”

“Well, yeah,” John nodded, smiling at the fond memory, “and I’d love to see him again- and thank him of course- but what about…”

“Let’s get hitched.”

“R-really?!” John asked, flabbergasted and relieved.

“Yeah. Let’s do it. Let’s go visit Dr. Holmes, thank him proper, and ask him to officiate. I want him there. He was like a father to me.”

John kept his grin in place by sheer force of will. Sally had never understood Dr. Holmes’ humor; if she had she would realize that the man detested her and had been mocking her for their entire semester. Still, he _had_ gotten them together when he’d had John tutor her out of sheer frustration at answering her scatterbrained questions. John would never have had the courage to approach a woman as beautiful as this Nubian goddess!

“I’ll drive,” John smiled, trying not to crow with joy.

They didn’t even pack a bag, just stopped at a mart and grabbed a few snack foods as if they were college kids again and headed north of London to the countryside where Dr. Holmes had moved to continue his research without ‘idiotic post-pubescent near adults pestering me for help with homework I was able to complete in primary school’. John had the GPS all set with the address he’d been writing to his mentor at and was all but shaking with excitement. Now that Sally was ready to go through with it perhaps she’d settle for a kiss or two before the wedding. He just wanted to know what it was like _before_ he committed. What if there was no spark between them? John masturbated like any healthy young man (not that he’d ever let on he did!) but he never pictured Sally when he did it; he mostly just focused on sensation since he’d never seen so much as a photo of a young woman naked. It was a daunting feeling and he found himself equally excited and terrified of their wedding night.

They had just turned down a road that John was decidedly unfamiliar with when the storm broke out. John watched as the GPS gave one last feeble attempt at direction and then announced it had lost the satellite.

“Great. I don’t even think we’re on the right road, I think it lost the satellite a while ago but didn’t catch on.”

“You think we made a wrong turn?” Sally asked, exasperated.

“Yeah, I thought one road back was the right one but followed this idiotic thing despite tha-“

John’s explanation was cut off by a loud bang as both their right tires blew out. John swore as the car dipped to the side, but gamely struggled out to survey the damage. He quickly scrambled back in the car.

“Two blown tires, and this road is too rocky to try putting the spare on one and driving on the rim for the other. We’ll end up spinning out and hitting a tree.”

Sally gave John an accusing glare and then pointed out the window, “See there?”

“Oh, yeah, lights! Must be a cottage or something,” John grinned at her resourcefulness, but she just rolled her eyes, grabbed a jacket, and jumped out of the car.

John made an attempt at holding an arm around her, but she shrugged him off and headed towards the lights with her collar pulled up and her long legs pumping. John struggled to keep up with his far shorter stride. He was feeling rejected, but it would do little good to complain to her.

John saw that Sally had stopped, but didn’t see the reason why until he was nearly at her side. A large gate blocked their way; apparently barring the entrance to a grand drive way. The light they’d seen was for an estate of vast proportions, not a cottage.

“Should we go back?” John wondered.

“Don’t be daft,” Sally scolded, and rang the buzzer at the gate entrance.

“Hello?” A sharp voice asked with an Irish lilt.

Sally motioned for John to speak, pulling sharply on his arm when he stared at her in confusion.

“Oh, ah, hullo, uhhhhh,” John began smartly.

“Candyman?” The man on the other end asked cheerfully.

Sally elbowed him and nodded frantically. It was starting to hail so John didn’t argue.

“Yes! That’s me!”

“Come on in! You’re late!” The buzzer went off and they pushed on the gate and bolted up the driveway, slipping on the chunks of ice that were getting thicker as they went.

The door was being held open so they bolted inside, shaking with cold and brushing bits of ice off their shoulders.

“Oh, you…” A man stated, and John looked up guiltily into the face of the man who had answered the door. He appeared to be a butler, a man in his forties with a clear Irish lineage and sharp eyes. Beside him stood a wizened woman with dancing eyes and a ready smile in a maids uniform, “You aren’t the Candyman!”

“I’m so sorry,” John replied, but his explanation was cut off by a sneeze.

“Oh, you poor dears!” the old woman tutted, “Out in that cold… let them in, Sebastian, they’ll freeze!”

“Our car broke down,” Sally stated, stepping forward to take control of the situation after giving John a withering glare, “You got a phone? Our mobiles aren’t working.”

“It’s astounding,” Sebastian replied, his voice dark and his eyebrow raised as though in criticism, “time is fleeting.”

“Uh, yeah, it is,” Sally replied, “So why don’t you fleet off to get us a phone that will work in this storm?”

“Madness takes its toll,” Sebastian continued with a glance at John, and then he turned and swept towards a large set of double doors just passed a small caged elevator that looked antique.

“We’re going back to the car,” John decided.

“Grow a pair, will you?” Sally hissed.

Once the doors were flung open music flooded the entryway and they gaped at the sight of men and women dancing suggestively with each other in a large ball room. They were wearing costumes… John hoped. They were most _certainly_ not dressed normally. He was horrified to see many of the men wearing _dresses_ , and not the sort gents wore in Scotland! Then a woman walked by, her full breasts contained in a gentleman’s white shirt with a cummerbund beneath them as their sole support. He gaped at her perky nipples, the line of the shirt broken by a red tie, but Sally clapped her hands over his eyes. When she removed them again the room had fallen silent and everyone was staring at them, some of them rather aggressively. John thought it might have been because they were dressed as the proper gender.

“Let’s get out of here,” John hissed at Sally.

“Don’t be such a prude, and quit staring.”

“You can only pick one of those, and we should _leave!_ It seems so unhealthy here.”

“Say!” Sally called cheerfully to the group, “Any of you know the Macarena?”

A disgusted sound answered them from somewhere to their right and then John heard an odd tapping sound behind him. A creeping sensation flowed up his spine and he found himself unable to move, practically unable to breathe.

“Sally…” John whispered with the last air in his lungs.

“Get a hold of yourself, John! You’re embarrassing me! Their just foreigners or something, just different is all. They’ll probably do some more folk dancing or something…”

The small cage elevator they had passed to get into the ballroom rattled open and John spun as though pulled on puppet strings. He gasped in air at the sight before him, his head spinning as he staggered back into Sally’s arms in a swoon from the sudden onrush of air after deprivation.

“Oh, pah _lease_!!” Sally stated in disgust, but John’s mind was reeling at what he’d just seen.

A man stood before him, his delicate face painted like a porcelain doll, his hair styled to perfection. His clothing… what little he wore… wasn’t just the ‘wrong’ gender- it was nearly non-existent! A lacy black corset clenched his tiny waist even tighter, pushing his chest up into a mockery of small breasts. A black thong barely covered his half-erect cock and _didn’t_ hide all of his hairless bollocks; instead the pale orbs were peering out of each side with what looked like a metal ring holding them in the perfect position to be half covered. A pair of black rubber stiletto thigh high boots and inch long black nails completed the look.

“Well how do you do,” He stated in an Irish lilting singsong voice, his eyebrows expressive and his dark eyes wide, “I see you’ve met my faithful handyman. He’s just a little brought down because when you knocked he thought you were the _candyman_.”

John was back on his feet now and gazing at the man in front of him wantonly, his cock aching in his jeans at the site of so much bare flesh. He’d never seen Sally in less than a [knee-length bathing suit](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XwRVa4bRwp8/UAoHuVZYZQI/AAAAAAAAPFI/Gu5uLMpnSPU/s640/womeninbathingsuitsoncollaroybeach252c1908.jpeg)! This young man was sporting more skin than John had ever viewed outside of his own mirror, and he’d never dared to look at himself in full light! Beside him Sally was giving the man a disgusted look and he responded to her glare.

“Don’t get strung out with the way I look,” the man laughed, heading towards a chair that was situated at the top of some stairs like a throne, “Don’t judge a book by it’s cover. By the light of day I’m not much of a _man_ , but by night I’m one **hell** of a lover. I’m just a _sweet transvestite,”_ the man purred, “from Transexual, Transylvania.”

Sally squared her shoulders and strutted forward, her paisley dress swishing despite the dampness.

“Look, I don’t mean to intrude, and I’m sorry my boyfriend mislead you-“

“Now hang on!” John snapped, but she flashed a glare at him that shut him up fast.

“-But we lost two tires on the road near here and we just need to call for a tow truck. We’re in a hurry and you’re clearly… _entertaining_ … so we won’t disrupt your… _party_.”

Sally said _entertaining_ as if she meant _fucking_ and _party_ as if she meant _orgy_ , with all the distaste she could muster from her proper upbringing. The words went straight to John’s cock- both the spoken and the unspoken.

_Gods, what am I doing? What am I thinking? That’s a bloke! There are guys around me in_ drag _and I’m totally okay with it! I’m more than okay with it, I’m hot for it! Gods, look at that one. She’s got the biggest package…_

“So you got caught with a flat, hmmm,” the transvestite from Transexual Transylvania purred again, “I guess I can _help you_.”

The man in the black corset apparently had Sally’s skill at saying one thing and meaning another, because _help you_ also made John’s cock twitch.

“Right then, our mobiles aren’t working because of this storm and…”

“We don’t have a land line here.”

“No land line?” Sally asked, her voice cracking a bit just as a nasty round of thunder and lightening decided to add to the ambiance.

“No. Land. Line.”

“So…”

“I’m afraid you’re… stuck here till morning.”

The two were having some sort of staring contest that John wished _he_ were a part of. It seemed rather intense.

_Get a grip on yourself John! You’re engaged!_ _This is a helluva time to find out you bat for the other team!_

“I’ll get you a mechanic once the rain stops,” the she-male announced proudly, “a _satanic_ mechanic.”

“A what?” Sally asked.

“Does that really exist?” John questioned curiously, a thrill running up his spine. He’d never felt so _alive!_

“In the mean time you can come up to my lab and see what’s on the slab!” The man replied cheerfully, his eyes lighting up. He looked positively gleeful, but as he passed them on his way back to the elevator he slowed down his walk and gave each of them a _very_ suggestive look. Since John was behind Sally he saw them both and _felt_ them both, but Sally had been looking away from him in disgust, “Get them comfy, Seb!”

John watched as the man got back into the elevator, pulled the lever, and zipped away with a lurid wink.

“ _Gods_ ,” John whispered, then jumped as he felt hands on himself, “What are you doing?!”

“Oh, calm down John!” Sally scolded, “Honestly, you’re being ridiculous. You heard that bloke, he’s from another country. We have to respect their culture.”

John respected the _hell_ out of their culture- especially the part that stripped John and Sally down to their skivvies. He awkwardly covered his erection but wasn’t the least bit sorry about the embarrassment when he got an eyeful of Sally in a slip and bra.

A mousey young woman in a corset and top hat wandered over, smiling shyly but flirtatiously at them both.

“His lab?” John questioned her since she seemed more approachable than the butler Sebastian.

“The Master is a scientist, a genius,” Sebastian answered, disproving John’s theory.

“And we’re to go to his lab? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“ _Everything_ about the Master is dangerous,” the old woman twittered, “Professor Moriarty is a _very_ dangerous man, but you get used to it?”

“Do you?” John asked the mousy girl again.

“Yes,” She nodded.

“Are _you_ going to his lab?”

“Oh, me?” She asked, taking their clothes from the butler and maid and then dropping them carelessly onto the ground, “Oh, I’ve seen it. I work in it for him.”

The four of them piled into the elevator, tightly pressed, and John managed to get an introduction from the old woman who turned out to be a Mrs. Hudson. The mousy girl he was told was Molly, but he didn’t catch a last name. They ended up in a large room with ampethiatre seating all around it as though it were a gladiator arena, but the floor was plain black and white marble tile instead of sand and there was no sigh of weapons. Instead the walls were covered with dials and blinking lights like something out of a science fiction picture show. A large tank stood in the middle of the room with what looked like a mummy inside it.

“Today,” Announced Professor Moriarty, “I’m going to show you how to make a man! For centuries we have bowed down and worshiped our creators but _today_ we _become them!”_

With that statement and a flaring of nostrils the small, slender man donned a robe and began spinning dials. John waited for lighting to come down and zap the tank, but instead liquid filled it and a moment later a stirring occurred and the creature was pulled into an upright position by Mrs. Hudson and Sebastian. John watched as they stripped off the bandages to reveal someone so gorgeous that he paled in comparison to his creator.

Full, pouty, cupids bow lips. A halo of dark curls. Pale eyes that might have been green or gray or anything in between framed by full lashes and half-lidded at the moment. A loooooong body and looooooonger legs, the entire of him hairless and glistening with moisture. John stared forlornly at his covered genitals and wondered at his dry mouth and hungry body. He was willowy and yet defined, a few small dots of moles adding humanity to this otherwise ethereal [Adonis](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/08/Adonis_Mazarin_Louvre_MR239.jpg).

The room erupted in applause and John gladly joined them in praise of the perfect creature before him, who was currently glancing about the room with a surprising amount of intelligence glistening in those haunting eyes. He was helped down from his tank and hesitatingly took a few steps, wobbling before finding his balance and moving with the grace of a danseur.

“You see,” Prof. Moriarty explained once the assembled had calmed their applause, “In just seven days I can make you the _perfect_ man; chiseled abs, thick legs, strong arms- all without ever lifting a single weight or doing a single sit-up. He is _perfection_. Ladies and Gentlemen! I have solved The Final Problem!”

The room erupted in cheers as Moriarty threw up his arms in emphasis. Then a loud beeping sound interrupted the applause and a door on the second level swung down while an audience member guiltily slunk away from it, apparently having activated it. From within a low moan echoed in the room and a man stumbled out, his head drenched in blood from a rather horrible head wound.

“He looks just like that freaky thing the Professor made!” Sally gasped from beside John.

John did a double-take. She was right! The bedraggled man could be the Professor’s Creation’s double! The only difference was that he was filthy, fully dressed in ragged clothing, bedraggled, and injured. He gazed around the room, his eyes glassy from his injury, and asked in a cracked voice.

“Mycroft? H-help? Please? My broth…”

The man toppled down, tipping over the rail and landing in a heap on the ground while Molly screamed in horror. It took a moment for John to realize that the loud bang was from a gun instead of thunder. Eyes slowly drifted over to where the Professor stood, a Sig Sauer clenched in a fist that shook with anger.

“Sorry,” He said, his voice deep and eerily calm, “Wrong day to die. He was one of the _failed_ experiments. Had to be _put down_. He didn’t have enough… _muscle.”_

John had a feeling the man wasn’t referring to biceps but his mind was stuttering over what he’d just witnessed. A man had just _died_ right in front of them all. John eased closer to Sally but she was frozen in place and staring in horror at the scene before her.

“Don’t you agree?” Moriarty asked the room, “Isn’t my _new_ creation perfection!”

The room paused in fear and then burst into agreeable applause. John could see the terror behind the smiles now and realized it had been there all along… he’d just been too shell-shocked to see it. This was all quite suddenly less exciting and more terrifying, but it didn’t reduce the feeling of _vitality_ that he felt.

John belatedly realized that Moriarty was waiting for _them-_ the group on the ground floor with him- specifically to answer him.

Sebastian went first, “He’s magnificent.”

“Stupendous!” Mrs. Hudson effused.

“He’s okay,” Molly stated, her eyes safely dry of tears.

“Okay?” Moriarty asked, “ **OKAY**?!”

John jumped at the sudden shout, and then stiffened in alarm as Moriarty headed over to them.

“I think we can do better than that!” Moriarty hissed, “Well? Speak!”

Sally jumped in surprise, but the Professor was looking at John for his opinion.

“I… I…” John glanced helplessly at Sally who was giving the creation a disgusted look, “I’ve never gone much for blokes…”

“I didn’t make him _for you_!” Moriarty hissed defensively, and the resulting laughter from the room difused the situation.

“Come, Lock,” Moriarty chirped to his creation, who was staring curiously at the body of his predecessor, “You have some _work_ to do.”

John’s stomach clenched as he realized what the man meant when he led Lock towards a door that opened into what was clearly a bedroom.

“Do something with _those_ ,” Moriarty instructed over his shoulder, waving a hand at John and Sally before slamming the door in their collective faces.

[CHAPTER TWO](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/78491.html)


	2. Chapter 2

John lay in bed, halfway between dreaming and awake, and heard Sally’s voice whisper in his ear. He smiled softly, muttered comforting words, and put his arms out for her. He felt her settle between his thighs and press close, kisses running up the column of his neck. John arched and moaned, his legs falling open as his hips lifted longingly. Such wanton caresses had never been shared between them and he was quickly brought to the edge- panting and whimpering as a thick cock pressed against his and…

“Wh-what?!” John gasped, and grabbed the thick main of hair to pull the face from his throat and get a look at it in the dim half-light of the bedroom.

The hair fell away and the fake, high mewls of longing were replaced with a deeper chuckle.

“You!” John gasped, shocked at the site of Moriarty in his bed.

“Yes, John, but isn’t it _nice!”_ The man cooed, and dipped his head to lick John’s sensitive nipple.

John gasped and his hips betrayed him by bucking, but he couldn’t let this lie no matter how aroused he was.

“Wh-what have you done with Sally?”

“Nothing,” Moriarty asked, giving him a confused and startled look, tinged with just a bit of… hopeful? “Why? Do you think I should?”

“I was saving myself,” John stated automatically, glancing down at his exposed ( _when did that happen?_ ) leaking cock and drawn up bollocks.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re spent yet,” Moriarty sneered, pushing John’s shoulders to shove him down again.

The man set to stroking him again and John writhed in miserable pleasure before shoving him away and shouting for Sally.

“Oh, no you don’t Johnny boy,” Moriarty sneered, “You don’t want Sally to see you like _this_ do you?”

Moriarty tugged beneath John’s knees and he felt a burst of air against his pucker. A recollection from Sunday school crossed his mind and he suddenly recalled what exactly two men _weren’t_ supposed to do together. John’s heart raced and his blood pounded in his ears, he was panting as the man thrust against him again. He could feel Moriarty’s cock as a steel rod surrounded in velvety flesh and pulsing with life. He felt _strong-_ despite his slightly smaller stature- while pressing against him and John had an intense urge to lay still and give himself to this powerful and terrifying man.

“Y-you won’t tell Sally?” John whimpered as his desire left him gasping.

The man chuckled darkly and then came forcefully across John’s belly. John gasped, his back arching at the feel of hot wetness shooting onto his abdomen and cock. The friction changed and he gasped as he clutched the man’s arse and writhed up against him in desperation. John was so _close_ and he _needed_ to come in ways he’d never experienced before. A finger trailed through the mess between them before reaching lower and John cried out as it pressed into his body. John’s world exploded into starbursts and fireworks, his ears too full of his pounding blood to register his frantic cries of pleasure as he reached culmination. He didn’t even hear Moriarty whisper possessively in his ear.

_“Now I owwwwwn you.”_

XXXXXXXXX

John woke with a start, his mind trying to figure out if he’d dreamed having his first sexual encounter. The cool and drying mess on his stomach and groin- as well as a mild burn as he shifted- told him it was indeed _quite_ real. Disgusted with himself for his actions and for making such a repulsive mess, John staggered upright and donned a robe. He hurried to the nearest loo and scrubbed himself clean despite the discomfort. Then he went in search of Sally, but he was quickly lost in the maze-like building. He had thought her room was right beside his but when he went back he found his room was the last in a row of empty ones? How had that happened? Did the building _change_?

John ended up wandering uselessly, panic slowly rising as the empty building creeked around him and no one was to be found anywhere. He felt violated, excited, terrified, horribly used, _wonderfully_ used, betrayed, adulterous, and ecstatic in turn. When he ended up in the lab again he glanced around himself in confusion before heading for one of the many screens on the wall. It looked like a computer and when he touched the pad it stuttered to life and showed him… Sally?

Sally was riding the hips of Moriarty, who had his head thrown back in pleasure and was moaning throatily. Sally was speaking and all manner of filthy words were spilling out of her pretty lips- they weren’t anything a virgin would say. John stepped back in horror, his hand over his mouth as he realized that Moriarty was getting to them _both_ and he was ashamed of how aroused he was of the image on the screen. He’d never seen a woman naked- let alone his fiancé- and the sight of her breasts bouncing on the screen was mesmerizing.

John was distracted from his dazed stare by a grunt and turned in surprise to see Lock Horror, the creature Moriarty had made, standing up naked in his tank after having ripped something out of the bottom of it.

“Ah, I see,” A deep baritone voice purred out, “This will do nicely. Oh, hello John. Hand me that screwdriver on the floor by your feet, will you? And do turn off that screen. I’ve seen enough of _that_ face for one evening.”

XXXXXXXXX

_Earlier That Night_

It was only transport. Sherlock knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier to lie there and pretend to enjoy it while his creator buggered him senseless.

_Sherlock. I’m Sherlock. I was Sherrinford, but now I’m Sherlock. Keep it together. Remember. Remember. Lock. Lock. Sherlock. Sherlock._

Sherlock finally got his hand to the little ring of keys lying in a discarded pile, and this time the moan he let out was genuine. Sadly, it resulted in more enthusiastic thrusting from his captor/creator. He winced as his prostate was stimulated and his confused transport eagerly responded to the burst of pleasure. He couldn’t afford to get distracted by something as pedestrian as _sex-_ he had to get to his ( _Sherrinford’s?)_ brother and warn him.

The key came free of the lacing it was tied to and Sherlock tried to contain his glee, setting for shifting up to take the pressure off his prostate while simulating an orgasm. Moriarty moaned at the clenching and came forcefully inside of him. Sherlock swallowed to keep himself from vomiting.

_Just transport. Just transport. The mind is what matters. My brain. My important brain. The body is nothing. Nothing. Nothing…_

XXXXXXXXXX

“You aren’t mute and groaning,” John stated, heading forward, “You aren’t staggering around or fleeing from lights and fire.”

“Thank gods for that,” Lock snorted, his tone irritating, “It would be terribly embarrassing. The screwdriver?”

“What? Oh! Yes.”

John brought it over to the man and watched him bend down, his eyes widening in shock as he glanced into the tank and realized the man was stark naked. John’s eyes dropped down to his hairless hole and stared with wide eyes at the dripping orifice. An easily identifiable, white substance was leaking out onto his damp thighs and arse. John swallowed hard, horrified by his urge to lean down and lick the man clean. He didn’t even know whose _cum_ that was… well, if he thought about it he did, but he really didn’t want to. He didn’t like the idea of that little ferret’s body wriggling on top of this gorgeous man’s body.

“You’ve been badly used,” John stated comfortingly, “I’m a doctor, you know. Well, I’ve got the first part of my degree. I… I can help you if you’re hurt.”

“I’m uninjured,” Sherlock stated, “It’s a matter of relaxing your muscles. I did have to clench to simulate an orgasm, but that was no hardship by then. At least he used lubricant this time.”

“This time?”

“In my former body he was far harsher.”

“Former body?”

“He keeps re-using this brain and the same DNA sequence for the body.”

“That’s why you look like the first experiment?”

“He wasn’t an experiment.”

Lock held out a large piece of equipment and John took it from him in surprise.

“I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me,” John replied.

“I wasn’t correcting your term, I was correcting your usage of it. Sherrinford was the _model_ I was based off of. He was a real person at one point. Surely you noticed the name he used? And a reference to a brother?”

“Yeah, the weird part is I was on my way to visit a Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes. Can’t be that common of a name, but there it is.”

Lock looked up at John sharply, his eyes narrowing, “Did he send you?”

“Dr. Holmes?” John asked in confusion, but the man snorted and shook his head.

“No, never mind. He’d never send someone so stupid and useless.”

John flushed in anger and embarrassment, “I’m a _doctor_ you know. I just have to complete my residency to get the full title, but I’m fully trained! I’m not stupid! I’ll have you know med school is…”

“Shut up.”

John’s jaw clicked shut and the man straightened again to hand him another large machine part with wires hanging off of it. John was still scowling at him.

“Oh, don’t look like that, you know what I mean. _Ordinary_.”

“Oh, not created in a lab like your perfect arse?” John snapped angrily.

“I was perfect _before_ I was put through this mockery of science: now I’m a freak.”

John winced and then took in the self-depreciating look on Lock’s face. He was genuinely disgusted by his otherwise perfect body.

“You… you look just the same. It’s your brain inside a new body, right? He must have changed something but I can’t figure out…”

“There! The bomb is diffused. It was far simpler than I thought it would be. Engineering. Hmph. He increased my libido, enhanced my voice to make it _sultrier_ , removed a few blemishes- some showed up anyway apparently- and he _thinks_ he dumbed me down. He failed at the latter.”

“Why would he want to destroy such a brilliant mind?” John asked, impressed with the man’s ability to survive and diffuse a _bomb_. He had also just noticed the bruises on his wrists which were clearly from handcuffs. He _had_ been ill-used. John doubted he’d be very social in his situation either.

The man gave John a glare and then did a double-take: “You’re serious.”

“Of course I am, why would I joke about you diffusing a _bomb_. Why was the lab bombed?”

“Because he’s a madman, of course, and he doesn’t trust is servants,” Lock hopped out of the tank with a graceful swing of his arms like a gymnast on a horse, “Rightfully so, I’m afraid. They’re about to revolt. You can see it in the way they carry themselves.”

Lock bent over again and John nearly choked on his own spit as the man’s hole twitched and winked at him.

“Ahhh, would you like my robe?”

“You’re naked beneath it.”

“Yes. Yes I am,” John replied, not sure where to go with that statement.

“I’m far more comfortable with my nudity than you are since I consider my body to be mere transport and therefore unimportant and meaningless.”

“You… you don’t like your body?”

“From what slightly scattered memory I have, it seems most humans don’t care for their transport.”

“Well, yeah, but you’re _perfect_.”

“I’m afraid I have to disagree with you. I have three moles.”

John blinked, “That guys fucked with more than your ass hasn’t he?”

Lock turned and gave him an amused look while John sputtered an apology in horror at what he’d just said.

“It’s fine,” Lock chuckled, “It’s all fine.”

“No, it’s not, Lock. Fuck’s sake you’ve just been raped by a mad scientist and I’m making jokes about your arsehole…”

“I prefer _Sher_ lock, and it wasn’t rape. I consented. It’s easier that way,” Lock- _Sher_ lock- shrugged, “I used to fight him, but that was far more painful. This way I get lube. If I fake an orgasm he even finishes sooner.”

“Fake an… oh… well… I guess that is what the police say to do if you’re ever… it doesn’t mean… you’re not…”

“This is tedious, John. Fetch me some wire cutters. I think there are some in the green house downstairs. I need to re-route these viewscreens so I can…”

“I can’t find my way around,” John replied.

Sherlock sighed, “Fine.”

“I’m sorry, I want to help I just…” John’s eyes glazed over as the man vaulted back out of the tank and strolled towards him with ludely swinging hips. His cock was half-hard and John was practically drooling on himself.

“Will you be less distracted if you reach orgasm?” Sherlock asked, his tone exasperated, “You’re really making this difficult with your inane chatter and vacant staring.”

“I’m _really_ sorry,” John stammered, “I’m just so… you’re just so… I’ve never felt so… _alive!_ ”

“Alive?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow curiously, “That’s an interesting term. Why alive?”

“I don’t know, I just… I guess I felt dead before and now I’m alive.”

Sherlock cocked his head to one side, “So am I, but it isn’t anything fantastic. In fact it’s rather frustrating because if I don’t complete the Work this time around I’ll end up repeating the process- death and re-animation- and this time he may not use the same parts of my brain so I may not remember enough to complete the Work.”

John skipped over the ‘work’ part and focused on what else he’d said, “Have you ever _enjoyed_ being alive?”

“I suppose I did a long time ago, but that was several bodies before this one. This body has never experienced pleasure- or at least not very much,” Here Sherlock paused and gave John a studying glance from head to toe and back up again, “I seem to be enjoying visual pleasure now. You have an erection, John. I repeat: will you be less distracted if you reach orgasm?”

“I… I can’t use you like that,” John flushed.

“No? Then perhaps _I_ can use _you_ ,” Sherlock decided, stepping forward and sliding the robe from John’s shoulders, “I should like to feel _alive_ this time around.”

“Oh,” John breathed as those full lips descended towards his own. He was soon moaning into a hungry mouth and found himself being tugged towards the tank once more.

Something inside of John reared it’s ugly head and he was pushing the man against the side of the tank as he tugged his robe the rest of the way off.

“Touch me,” John growled hungrily, taking the man’s hardening cock in hand.

“Yes!” Sherlock gasped his eyes starting to glaze, a look of surprise on his face.

Then he panicked and John was quite suddenly without a partner as Sherlock fled into the tank with wide, wild eyes.

“Shhh,” John soothed, moving slowly as he climbed into the tank and moved closer to Sherlock again, “I won’t hurt you. Listen. I’ve been feeling done in, you know? Couldn’t win. I’d only ever kissed before.”

Sherlock cocked his head to one side, clearly relieved at the admission of a lack of experience, and John was welcomed into those long arms again.

“I thought,” Sherlock smiled slightly, “that there was no use getting into heavy petting. It only leads to trouble and seat wetting.”

John reached around and touched that filthy hole of Sherlock’s, stroking the dampness there. The man was growing harder between them.

 _We need oil or something_ , John decided, and the man seemed to know what he was thinking again as he reached up and activated one of the jets that had dropped fluid on him during the experiment. John was too far gone to care what it was or would do to them. He found himself gasping as slick liquid poured over their bodies, drenching them before Sherlock shut it off again. They slipped in it, giggling and mock wrestling, and then John dropped the man down to the bottom of the tank- ignoring the hole in the floor near their feet where he’d been taking things apart- and proceeded to slide his hips against him.

“Oh!” Sherlock cried out, tossing his head back and hitting it rather hard against the floor.

“I’ve tasted blood and I want _more_ ,” John growled, nipping Sherlock’s throat and finding the oil on their bodies to have a pleasant taste.

Sherlock suddenly took the upper hand and John found himself flipped onto his back while the man rutted against his body. Then Sherlock slipped first one knee and then the other between John’s thighs. He got up on his knees and pulled John’s legs until they were straight up in front of him. John looked down at his thighs and moaned at the sight of Sherlock’s cock appearing and disappearing between them as the man fucked his thighs with that curly mop of hair tossing in pleasure.

XXX

Sherlock didn’t know what to make of the man who had started out shy and concerned and turned animalistic and hungry on him. Hands clawed at his hips but they were nothing like Moriarty’s; these hands were strong and assertive, promising protection as well as pleasure. Sherlock wanted to be taken almost as much as he wanted to _take_ , and flipped the man over to press his cock between those strong thighs. Unlike Moriarty, this man had a light covering of hair on his legs, groin, chest, and arms that Sherlock was quickly becoming addicted to. The friction against his sensitive skin was overwhelming and Sherlock found himself climaxing hard across the smaller man’s chest.

Sherlock’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as his world exploded in pleasure. He knew he was crying out, shouting at the top of his lungs, but he couldn’t contain himself. His mind had no stored recollection of orgasm, though he had vague memories of past lovers from a previous lifetime. Only the important things had been kept, but now Sherlock couldn’t understand how _this_ was unimportant!

John moaned and rubbed his hands through Sherlock’s spunk, matting his chest hair with it and looking utterly debauched. Sherlock groaned at the sight and crawled up the man to sink down on his cock enthusiastically. He was more than prepared for the burn, but not for the jolt of pleasure/pain as his prostate was stimulated.

“Fuck!” Sherlock shouted, and John echoed the thought in a long moan.

XXX

“Fuuuuuuck,” John moaned, rolling his hips as tight heat surrounded his cock.

He was overwhelmed, pleasure unlike anything he’d ever felt making him nearly hyperventilate. He knew he was clawing at the man but he couldn’t stop himself from trying to crawl deeper inside that gorgeous body. Sherlock was riding him with deep, sensual moans that vibrated through his entire body. John was tossing his head wantonly and all but sobbing in pleasure. He _needed_ to come, but he was right on edge and couldn’t seem to reach culmination. It was likely because he’d climaxed earlier but this! This was so much better, so much more _intense_ and he wanted it desperately.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!” John whimpered, bucking his hips up into the man above him.

“This isn’t going to work, you need your prostate stimulated,” That sinful baritone informed.

“A-anything!” John cried out, and then swore in frustration as Sherlock climbed off of him and cool air replaced the hot clench of his body.

John was urged to roll over and found himself with his face on the cool glass at the bottom of the tank and his arse in the air. More liquid poured over his exposed pucker and he jumped a bit as a finger stroked him until he could feel his entrance fluttering anxiously.

“Ohhhhh,” John sighed as a finger slipped inside of him.

“John…” That voice breathed as the man leaned over his body, “I want to be inside you, John.”

“Y-you are,” John whispered back, his body trembling with need.

“ _More_ of me. Let me fuck you.”

“Y-yes!” John gasped, his hips bucking as Sherlock stroked his prostate firmly.

Another finger was added and John was stretched with near medical efficiency. He bit his lip and found himself _enjoying_ the burn, but nothing compared to he man sliding inside of him inch by inch. That gorgeous, long, lean cock took _ages_ to seat itself in John’s channel, and once there he sighed his name as though it were a prayer and gently stroked the small of his back.

“This part is the worse for me usually,” Sherlock spoke softly, “Do you want me to stop?”

“Fuck no! Never!” John gasped out, “ _Move!”_

Sherlock slid halfway out and then slowly slid back in again with a soft moan. John wasn’t having that and when he slid back out again he thrust himself back sharply. They both cried out and then Sherlock’s long fingers were gripping John’s hips as he pounded into him relentlessly.

“Is this what you want? To be fucked?”

“Y-yes!”

“You want it hot and filthy, don’t you?” Sherlock growled, his hips finding John’s prostate without error, “You want the Creature to take you fast and hard?”

“Yes! Yes! _Yes_!”

John was thrusting back to meet each jolt forward of Sherlock’s hips, his hands braced against the wall of the tank. His body was arched like a cats, his compact muscles working hard to push back against the man taking him. He was close again, his body thrumming with desire as he _reached_ for that final burst but couldn’t quite get to it. Sherlock leaned across his body, that still unerringly pleasuring him, and hissed instructions in his ear.

 _“Touch yourself_.”

“T-touch me!” John countered, refusing to take his hands off the wall.

Sherlock growled like the monster he professed to be, stilled his hips, and took John in hand. He stroked him from root to tip with a firm motion, his hands twisting at the top to tease the foreskin until John was gagging for it. John began to arch his hips, rolling them and making short stabbing motions until his prostate was so stimulated he was seeing sparks behind his eyes and was choking on the air he tried to breathe in. John came with a strangle scream, his seed painting the tank beneath him as fingernails dug into his arse. He could feel heat pumping into his body, Sherlock’s cock twitching as it emptied itself into him.

“Oh _gods!_ ” Sherlock cried out, his voice almost pained as he came inside of his lover.

John collapsed into the mess of oil and semen beneath him, whimpering and panting in relief. He’d never felt so utterly full and satisfied in his entire life. Sherlock was slowly softening inside of him, his cock pulsing as it slid slowly free of his body. He moaned at the feel of his come leaking out and tried in vain to clench and hold it inside of him. He was utterly overwhelmed by this man and his perfect body and mind. Sherlock had climbed out of the tank and now returned with a towel from the nearest loo. He urged John to stand with surprisingly gentle words ( _That’s it, John. Yes. Lovely. So good for me, aren’t you?)_ and ran a cycle to clean out the tank. They climbed back in and curled up on a pile of towels, wiping each other clean and pressing soft kisses to swollen lips. John had no idea who fell asleep first, but they were awoken by an unearthly scream.


	3. vincentmeoblinn | The Lock Horror Picture Show Ch 3

Sherlock was certain that an orgasm wasn’t meant to feel _quite_ that good; certainly it couldn’t be meant to cause rational thought processes to stop functioning, sparks to fly behind his eyes, and his body to be reduced to a simply thrusting motion. If so, why would he have deleted all previous orgasms from his Mind Palace? Or was the information he _had_ retained so damned important that something this mind blowing had to go?

Sherlock lay snuggled with a sleeping John, caressing the man’s hair and trying to organize his Mind Palace while he still had the time.

Time. Time was a huge issue and he’d just _wasted_ a great deal of it. Mycroft was counting on him, and while his ‘brother’ wasn’t his primary concern in life, the cake-eating philosopher was beyond right in his concerns. James Moriarty was a dangerous man; case and point that he’d managed to capture Sherrinford and turn him into an experiment. Now that Mycroft’s true brother was dead and gone Sherlock- his artificially created doppelganger- needed to carry on where the private eye had left off. Since the base for the mad she-male’s experiments was now dead there would _be_ no more reincarnations of himself to continue his plan. This was his last shot.

John stirred in his arms and Sherlock’s heart fluttered, giving him pause to frown at the man beside him. This made no _sense_. Sherlock was aware that Sherrinford had been with people before his incarceration and death, but he held no record of a lasting relationship. It might have been deleted, but Sherlock didn’t think that was the case, as it would hold relevant data to human interaction. It seemed far more likely that the man was a renowned bachelor- so why was Sherlock so unaccountably attached to _this man_?

Sherlock’s musings were interrupted by a terrorized scream and he jolted where he lay, arm wrapping protectively around John’s torso as the man nearly bolted upright and revealed them.

“Forgive me Master!” A shriek reached their ears.

“You were supposed to watch him!” Moriarty roared angrily, and the snap of a whip made Sherlock flinch in sympathy. He’d been on the end of that whip more times than he’d like to recall a few incarnations back.

“I was only gone for a moment, he must have picked the lock!”

“Why do you think I named him _Lock_! To remind all of you useless _servants_ that he’s an expert lock picker! _Well?_ Go! And! Find! Him!”

There was a scramble as Moran went to obey the screamed instructions and then a stumble and _oof_ and then sudden silence. Thick silence. The kind you heard right before someone found you…

“Master,” Mrs. Hudson called, “There’s an intruder outside.”

“Oh?” Moriarty asked curiously, his voice sounding eager, “Well, bring him in!”

They heard a lever pulled and then a whooshing sound before a man let out a surprisingly dignified gasp.

“Well, well, well,” Moriarty chirped, “Look whose here! Dr. Holmes! You’re just in time to meet your brother’s clone!”

Moriarty reached into the tank, grabbed Sherlock by his curls and pulled him upwards. Sherlock came up without letting on how much it hurt, standing naked and haughty in the tank.

“Sherrinford!” Mycroft gasped, then narrowed his eyes, “No… no you _aren’t_ him.”

“No, not quite,” Sherlock replied with a nod, “I go by Sherlock.”

“What the _hell?!”_ Moriarty hissed as John stood up beside Sherlock, a towel wrapped awkwardly around his waist, and shoved Moriarty’s hand away from Sherlock’s hair, “Lock you little _slut!”_

“John?” Mycroft asked in surprise.

“Dr. Holmes!” John gasped, flushing in shame.

“John!” Sally gaped, taking in his disheveled appearance.

“Sally,” John replied, his tone miserable as he took in _her_ disheveled appearance.

“Sally,” Dr. Holmes nodded, frowning in disapproval at her obvious shame.

“Dr. Holmes,” Sally acknowledged with narrowed eyes and an ‘ _I dare you to judge’_ me tilt to her chin.

“Lock!” Moriarty snapped again, “How _could_ you?! I made you! I made you and I can _end you_ just as easily!”

“I’m aware,” Sherlock nodded, “Considering all the times you’ve ended me in the past.”

Moriarty studied Sherlock silently for a moment, then a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.

“No. No, not this time. I see now where I went wrong. You’ve still retained some of the memories of your previous incarnations. _Killing you_ just isn’t enough to stop you behaving like a wanton whore. I’m going to have to _burn_ the _heart_ out of you.”

John inched closer to Sherlock who he had hoped to get a bit of comfort from, but the man was as still as a statue.

“I’ve been reliably informed I don’t have one.”

“I think we both know that’s not _quite_ true.”

Silence fell in which no one dared to so much as breathe deeply, and then a loud gong rang out across the room.

“Dinner is served!” Molly chirped cheerfully, then looked embarrassed when everyone glared up at her.

XXXXXXXXXX

John found himself settled next to Sally instead of Sherlock, their robes all tightened and their legs crossed politely as though nobody had just commited acts of infidelity all around the table (excluding Mycroft Holmes, of course). Moriarty was serving food, cutting up the large leg of lamb(?) and passing slices around the table. John found himself studying his with an odd feeling in his gut, and poked at it rather than eat it.

“Well, where are my manors, we’ve nearly forgotten!” Moriarty spoke up with sudden cheer, then turned happily towards Sherlock and started to sing, “Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!”

John and the rest joined in but Moriarty’s mood turned dark and they soon fizzled out before the song was through. Sherlock surveyed them all with a raised eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. John noted that he _also_ was not eating and decided he’d better not try even a bite despite his growling stomach.

“So, Dr. Holmes,” Moriarty began cheerfully, “I can’t help but notice that you know my guests! How… interesting.”

“They were former students of mine and have nothing to do with this, _James_ ,” Mycroft sneered out, “I have no idea what brought them into your den of iniquity.”

“We were coming to announce our engagement to you and ask you to officiate,” Sally stated, the coldness in her voice implying that request was no longer necessary.

_Thank gods,_ John thought, feeling almost giddy with relief, _I’m free… how long have I even felt trapped? Before tonight? Just tonight? It’s all so unreal…_

“And I suppose,” Moriarty replied with a hint of anger, “You want me to believe that your meeting here in my _den of iniquity_ is just a very cute coincidence.”

“It would seem so,” Mycroft replied in a bored tone, “I think you know why I’m here.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea!” Moriarty declared in a high, innocent voice.

“Where. Is. My. Brother?” Mycroft asked, his voice turning venomous.

John drew back a bit, alarmed at the sudden threat in Mycroft’s voice. The man had always been cold, sarcastic, and just a bit caustic, but this was entirely new. The portly gentleman now looked capable of murder, and John found himself alarmed that someone he considered a mentor had such an alarming alter ego.

“Who?” Moriarty asked innocently.

“Sherrinford. My troublesome brother who insisted you were up to no good and came to _inspect_ you. The one who claims you stole my research and have made a mockery of it. The one who sent me this letter stating he feared he would soon be dead and demanding I come at once. The man who you based this… this… _thing_ off of!” Mycroft sneered, waving his hand at Sherlock.

“Now hold on just a second,” John spoke up, but a subtle head shake from Sherlock silenced him and his words went entirely unnoticed.

“This charming young man?” Moriarty replied, again with that innocent falsetto.

“He looks almost identical to him,” Mycroft replied, eyes raking over the speedo-clad creation, “Some flaws, I see, but otherwise he could be his twin. I was even fooled for a moment, but they don’t carry each other the same way.”

“ _Flaws?!”_ Moriarty hissed, his face turning purple with outrage, “He has no _flaws_!”

“He isn’t a perfect copy…”

“I didn’t _want_ a perfect copy! I made him _unique_ and _perfect_! I grew the flesh separate from your _dear brother’s_. They don’t share a single molecule of DNA. The brain is the only part that I allowed to infect him, and only because he needed a soul to move and my research shows that the souls are housed within the brains.”

“Really?” Sally asked curiously, “Not the heart?”

Moriarty gave her a withering glare; “You’re much prettier with your mouth _shut_. The heart is just a muscle, and while muscles are quite attractive they’re only muscles. I can build them in a lab as easily as you could build a tower of blocks… and I can knock them down _twice_ as easily.”

“Then he has my brother’s brain?” Mycroft asked, and you could see the color had drained out of his face despite the remaining strength in his voice.

“Only _half_ of it,” Moriarty replied, “I accredit that to his continued bad behavior.”

“And the other half of his brain and the rest would be _where_?” Mycroft asked, his eyes raking over Sherlock’s body as though ready to dissect the other half of the important organ from him right then and there.

Moriarty smiled slowly, his face turning as terrifying as a grotesquely shaped jack-o-lantern. He took hold of the edges of the table cloth and _pulled_ sharply. Beneath it was a glass coffin like something out of a fairy tale, but the contents were no sleeping beauty. Inside were the remains of Sherrinford Holmes, and it didn’t escape John’s notice that one of his legs were missing.

John’s mind fled to Sherlock, who looked so similar to this man, and he was across the room and in the man’s arms without recalling the steps that took him there. Sally had screamed and was vomiting up her mean loudly on the floor. Molly screamed out a ‘no’ and clutched at her hair, pulling on it savagely. To John’s horror, Mrs. Hudson and Sebastian were merely chuckling in the corner as though they had both been part of a very good joke! Mycroft stared quietly at the destroyed form of his brother and then raised his eyes slowly as one would raise a sword.

“You _fiend_ ,” Mycroft hissed.

However, Moriarty had eyes only for John and Sherlock, who was clutching John protectively against his body.

Moriarty flew at him and John pushed Sherlock out of the way instinctively, hands coming up to protect himself from the sharp fingernails that threatened to gouge his eyes out. John’s mind warred with itself, considering this man a woman and trying to decide if he should properly defend himself. He opted for retreat and the man harried him down the hall and back to the lab, shouting abuse at him and screaming threats.

John ended up backed against the tank when he finally gave Moriarty a firm shove and shouted at him to stop.

“Leave him alone!” Sally shouted, and John looked up in surprise at his would-be rescuer.

Moriarty gave a firm nod towards where Mrs. Hudson stood by a lever and Sally froze in place, her entire body taking on a pale look.

_Stone!_ John gaped in horror. Sally had just been turned into a bloody statue!

“The medusa ray,” Moriarty smirked, and then pointed a finger towards Mycroft Holmes.

John watched in horror, as the people around him became statues. He was helpless to do anything about it as he was frozen in place as well. He could still see and hear but was unable to move or even breathe, but after a moment of panic he realized he didn’t seem to need to. A strange calm settled over him and he relaxed into his fate as Molly stepped forward and provided another piece of the puzzle.

“I loved you! I loved you and you cast me aside for Sherrinford, and then you tossed him away for Sherlock! You take and you take and you take, draining people of their love and emotion! Well, I’ve had enough! It’s time for you to decide! Me or Sherlock! So named for the mockery of a half-soul you’ve put in his head!”

Moriarty nodded his head and she stilled as well.

[CHAPTER FOUR](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/80333.html)


	4. vincentmeoblinn | The Lock Horror Picture Show Ch 4

John didn’t care. He didn’t care about the make-up on his face. He didn’t care about the women’s clothes he’d been trussed up in. He didn’t care about the humiliation those around him suffered. Nothing mattered when you were stone. He could feel his mind being invaded by useless thoughts and knew what would happen before the de-medusa beam was activated on Molly.

_It was great when it all began_  
I was a regular Jimmy fan   
but it was over when he had the plan   
to start a-workin' on a muscle man   
yeah, now the only thing that gives me hope   
is my love of a certain dope   
rose tints my world   
and keep me safe from the trouble and pain 

He watched emotionlessly as she began to strut and sing, swaying her hips and bouncing her tiny tits. None of it affected him.

Sherlock was next, his perfect body made absolutely erotic in a tight black corset, matching thong, thigh high stockings, and stilleto heals. John should have been drooling, but he was numb.

_Well I'm just seven hours old_  
truly beautiful to behold   
and somebody should be told   
my libido hasn't been controlled   
but now the only thing I've come to trust   
is an orgasmic rush of lust   
rose tints my world   
and keeps me safe from the trouble and pain 

It was ludicrous when Sally started dancing. She was clearly unable to walk in high heels, her legs wobbling and her voice shaking with them. She ended up on the floor, stretching like a cat and looking even more ridiculous.

_It's beyond me,_  
help me mommy   
I’ll be good, you'll see   
take these dreams away   
what's this?   
let's see...   
i feel sexy   
what's come over me?   
whoo! here it comes again 

John should have been worried, but as has been mentioned stone had no emotions. When the de-medusa ray released him he began to dance and sing- doing remarkably well for someone who had never worn heels either- but he’d think back on this some day, because he knew that the words that left his mouth were honest ones.

I feel released   
bad times deceased   
my confidence has increased   
reality is here   
the game has been disbanded   
my mind has been expanded   
it's a gas that Jimmy’s landed   
his lust is so sincere...

Moriarty himself was next, his body done up in a beautiful silver satin dress with gloves up to his elbows. He began to sing softly while the rest of them remained froze in place.

_Give yourself over to absolute pleasure_  
swim the warm waters of sins of the flesh   
erotic nightmares beyond any measure   
and sensual daydreams to treasure forever   
can't you just see it?  
woah-oh-ohhhh... 

Emotions were slowly starting to creep back into John’s mind, but they were confused and distorted. The first dawning feeling was horror at their situation and how trapped they were. He had no idea where Mycroft was, but he feared for the man’s life as well as his own and Sherlock’s.

_don't dream it, be it_  
don't dream it, be it   
don't dream it, be it   
don't dream it, be it   
don't dream it, be it  
don't dream it, be it   
don't dream it, be it  
don't dream it, be it  
don't dream it, be it  
don't dream it, be it 

In the background he could hear Mycroft speaking to them, imploring them to cast off their hypnosis before it ended them all but he was being slowly dragged towards a nearby hot tub where Moriarty had flung himself down and was basking in the whirling make-up tinted water. John watched his co-captives climb into the water and start to press against Moriarty, singing softly with him and stripping off their unpractical thongs. John found himself in the water as well, pressed between Sally and Moriarty. He could feel fingers penetrating him and working him open. The water seemed to be oily, and he was smearing it across Moriarty’s body with Sherlock’s assistance as the man became increasingly aroused beneath their touch.

John felt himself turned around and moaned as he was slowly impaled on Moriarty’s shaft, gasping as the man’s hips jerked forward sharply. A glance over his shoulder showed a glazed-eyed Sherlock pressing into their hedonistic captor as well. When he looked forward again Molly was wrapping her legs around him. Sally seemed to have latched on to Mycroft who was half in the water and struggling to keep himself sane. John was certain that he should have felt pleasure. He was erect wasn’t he? He should have felt _something_ besides simple friction, but he felt _nothing_.

Their mindless orgy was interrupted by a loud bang as the doors flew open and a scantily clad Sebastian walked in with an _alarmingly_ inadequately dressed Mrs. Hudson. Sebastian had one arm around her cinched waist and the other hand held a gun that he pointed at them. Sebastian pressed a button on the wall and John felt a sense of relief as they all separated the instant Moriarty’s spell over them ended.

“John!” Sherlock called, and tugged him towards the edge of the water urgently while John struggled to walk in only one stiletto heel. He kicked it off but they both froze as the gun centered on them.

“Don’t move. None of you,” Sebastian hissed.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing Seb?!” Moriarty snapped, “I was in the middle of a _floor show_! This had better be urgent or…”

“It’s over, Jim. It’s all over. You’re experiments are too extreme and they’ve brought attention down on us. We are returning to Transexual Transylvania. Mommy, prepare the transit beam.”

Mrs. Hudson nodded with a smile and headed away while John glanced in horror at Sherlock and mouthed ‘ _Mommy?_ ’ Sherlock shrugged and then rolled his eyes. Sebastian cleared his throat and they fell back into obedient stillness.

“Come now, Sebby,” Moriarty purred, his voice like honey, “This isn’t what you want, is it? I’ve seen the error of my ways. We’ll all go home together where our lives are _simpler_ than on this backwater planet.”

“Planet?” John echoed.

“I _knew_ it!” Sherlock crowed.

“That explains a few things,” Mycroft nodded.

“I’ve had sex with an alien!” Sally squeaked in horror, “Without a condom! Am I going to have alien babies?”

“Serves you right, whore,” Molly muttered.

“Shut up!” Sebastian roared. They all fell to silence, “I’m afraid you misunderstood. When I said _we_ were returning, I meant my wife and I. You will remain here. In spirit, anyway.”

Moriarty made to bolt, or at least duck behind Sherlock, but the laser hit him unerringly and he fell beneath the cloudy water. He was motionless and the rest of them clamored out of the water, Molly screaming and clutching at Mycroft in horror.

“ _Oh, gods, no,”_ Sherlock whispered, his arms tightening around John’s waist.

John glanced up at him in confusion, but the man just shook his head, his lips pressed firmly together. John thought he might have been weeping but it was hard to tell between the water and the running mascara. Certainly the tremble could have been attributed to the chill. Sally, however, took no qualms in throwing herself at Moriarty’s body in hysterics, dragging him upright and sobbing over him as though her life had ended with his. Sebastian shouted at her to back away, but she screamed and launched herself towards him in an attempt at vengeance. The gun flashed in the dim light and John’s fiancé lay still on the ground, her glazed and painted eyes staring up at the ceiling like a dolls.

Sherlock turned John’s head away and he let himself be tucked under Sherlock’s chin.

“I suggest you all leave. This castle is the ship we arrived in and it is about to depart in a similar fashion… _Go!_ ”

They fled the castle, John clutching the hand of his new lover and mindlessly carrying his shoes. The castle began to shake before they quite got to the exit, the walls around the cracking to reveal metal casing behind them. The man hadn’t lied- the building was a space ship!

Once free of the vessel they kept running, cutting their feet on sharp stones and sticks. John cried out twice in pain, but Sherlock’s grip on his wrist was relentless as the man pulled him along. The heat hit them almost the same moment as the flames did and they were all knocked over as smoke and soot overwhelmed them. They ended up crawling across the ground, choking and struggling, until they reached the gates. They pushed their way through and found the road was completely clear of the fallout. John spent a moment gulping clean air and coughing before turning around to survey the damage and seeing… a forest?

“What… what happened to…?”

“There appears to be a car down the road,” Sherlock stated, pointing towards John’s own car, “Yours I presume?”

“Ahhh, yeah, but it’s got two flat tires.”

“We’ll just have to manage,” Sherlock replied.

“I think Sally left her mobile in there so it wouldn’t get wet. We can call for help but uhhh,” John indicated their states of undress.

Sherlock shrugged again, “We’ll just have to manage. We’ll call Lestrade.”

The four of them piled into the car, shivering a bit in the night air, and John turned on Sally’s mobile and handed it to Sherlock who dialed a number from memory and spoke to the person on the phone.

“Lestrade’s coming, and he’s bringing four pairs of clothes for us. Mycroft, I assume you’re willing to work with your brother’s clone?”

“I see no reason why I should not. Ignoring you won’t bring my _real_ brother back. I suppose you’re a bit of the next best thing.”

“He’s _perfect_ ,” John insisted.

Sherlock slipped an arm around John despite the awkwardness of the e-brake between them, and John let himself lean over to be closer to him.

“It will be some hours,” Sherlock stated, “I suggest we all get some sleep. I gave him our longitude and latitude so he’ll find us with his GPS that way.”

Mycroft and Molly got as comfortable as possible in the seat in the back, muttering apologies for intruding on each other’s space, and John let the seats tilt back just a bit for himself and Sherlock. Sherlock lay on his side, apparently wide awake, and held John’s hand as he drifted off to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

“So you’re telling me,” Lestrade stated, staring them all down from across his desk, “That you four were abducted by aliens, experimented on, and then left wandering the countryside in corsets and torn pantyhose?”

“Thigh highs,” Sherlock corrected.

“What’s the difference?” Lestrade queried.

“Thigh highs only go up to your thigh. Pantyhose to up to your waist.”

“Oh, well, I stand corrected then, don’t I?” Lestrade replied sarcastically.

“Obviously,” Sherlock snorted.

“ _Sarcasm_ ,” John whispered.

“Oh. Apparently, yes,” Sherlock frowned, looking annoyed.

“If that will be all detective inspector?” Mycroft sighed, “I do have an experiment to check on at home.”

Lestrade sighed, “I’m half tempted to charge you all with _something,_ but it can’t be public indecency since you weren’t at all in public when I found you, and until those blood tests come back I can’t make a case on whatever the hell you took to make you dream that shit up…”

“I. Am. Clean!” Sherlock snapped.

“We all are,” John replied, though he wasn’t honestly sure.

“Just go home already,” Lestrade sighed, “Sherrinford, I’m serious. Your test comes back positive for _anything_ and I’m not calling you in again! Ever!”

“It won’t. Oh, and I’m going by Sherlock now. Do get used to it.”

“Wha…? Oh, whatever! Fine! Go on then! Get out! Damn pompous…”

The door shut on the rest of Lestrade’s grumbling and John took the consulting detective’s hand. They left the Met and climbed into Mycroft’s private car which he’d had meet them there.

“I’ll drop you two off at Baker Street, shall I Sherlock?”

“Mmm,” Sherlock replied, staring out the window.

“What about you, miss?” Mycroft asked Molly.

“My mum lives on Ivy Street, would you mind?”

“No, that won’t be any trouble,” Mycroft replied.

Molly ducked her head down, staring at Sherlock through her eyelashes with longing, but John kept close to him defensively. Something just wasn’t _right_ about that girl. After about ten minutes they reached an apartment building and John climbed the steps with Sherlock.

“I’m missing a few memories about here, so I’m going to take some time to familiarize myself. You make yourself at home.”

“Yeah sure… uhhhh, about home?”

“Yes?”

“Am I… am I staying here?” John asked hesitantly, thinking back on his bedroom at his parents house. He wasn’t sure if he could set foot in that trophy decorated tribute to his University days, not after what they’d gone through. He felt too changed.

“Obviously,” Sherlock snorted, then turned sharply and headed for the kitchen to poke around in it.

John stared at the science station set up on the kitchen table, the headphone covered cow skull on the wall, the human skull on the mantelpiece beside the mail- stabbed through with a knife- and flopped down in a chair.

_Home._


End file.
